The Day the Laughter Died
by Angelas
Summary: Sasuke's ended a life that he wish he hadn't. A frozen figure of the one he then realized he'd loved all along now lies before him. Lifeless, defensless, and eternally delicious. Warning: Very disturbing content


**Okay, guys. The warning was for real. This story is extremely graphic. For those who are queasy, sensitive, unprepared, young, or any other thing that may relate to innocence:**

**TURN BACK NOW.**

**This is NOT a pretty story. It will not make you smile, I promise. It is morbid, vulgar, and.. sad. So please. If you feel as though I've freaked you out already, save your soul and press the back button. **

**The dread shall commence. My sick mind will be beheld. o.o**

_**DISCLAIMER.**_

**oOo**

Paling flesh, and whitish tint threatened at his once colored skin.

His foolish intent on defending Konoha and the degenerates that inhabited it caused me to do it. And I did, and it took place. Now.. he lied frozen before me. The concocted image of the rising of his chest painfully repeating in my mind as I watched his closed, lidded eyes.

The earth had parted and broken beneath us, evidence of his immense, unmatchable power. He could have killed me, he could have torn me and scissored at my gizzard, birthing the pain and death that I so miserably wish I had been given.

But it wasn't, and couldn't be so, when I had killed him.

My anger rose, my anger _grew_, and I could not stop. To damn those that had damned me. That was what I wanted, thirsted, _needed_. Naruto was in my way, and I treated him as if he were. But when he had me beneath his feet, my body draining and bleeding, he could not kill me.

Dirtied blond hair, and tainted, blue eyes cried from above me.

"I can't kill you, Sasuke," he said, "not tonight, or the next.."

Hatred ravaged me, and I hardly cared for the water that fell so softly on my face. The end of my katana found its way into his heart as he cried.

His once beating, loving heart.

I watched as he fell to his knees, his eyes closing at a sluggish, lifeless pace. I watched as his lips coiled calmly into what would be his final smile, and my arms seemed to have risen by their own accord as I caught him in his bitter fall.

His body was thick and heavy against me, and my anger (as wretched and endless as it was) began to disperse into the nothingness of what would be his breath.

I had killed him. I ended his life. The precious boy that had mattered to so many in the past; dead and bleeding.

Something hot and seething streamed from my eyes, and I knew they were tears. He hadn't killed me, and life made its presence known in my body with the rising and falling of my chest.

But all my passion had gone with his golden hair.

I knew then (as his chest stayed frozen against my own, and his eyes remained closed) that I was a spirit of decay; detached, unchangeable, and empty.

Now, I sat against a tree, and he, before me on verdant green.

His body lied breathless still, even when night had fallen on the day of which he had died. He wouldn't breathe, he wouldn't speak, or smile the way he had when we were thirteen.

His smile had gone out like the light in my mind.. An avalanche of pearl, of ruby wine.

I indulged on the tears that flowed endlessly from me, pleading, hoping,_ dreaming_ that he would wake from what seemed to be a comprised antic. It was an impossibility for him to truly lie dead.. He was Naruto, he smiled and people laughed with him. He was loved, unlike I, and the sun couldn't fully light without him.

How could he have died when the sun continued to shine?

My clammy eyes stared intently at his body. His wounds covered and sealed by rags that were cut mindlessly from my guise. My love for him seeped to the brim, and it was then (when he lied seemingly dead) that I loved him. That I cared. That I needed, desired, and coveted him.

The heart that I had denied and hoped I never had, began to rot and break inside me, knowing that his sunlight was forever gone.

I waited impatiently for his chest to rise. For him to breathe, and for what I had done, to be undone. Just as he had forgiven me a hundred times before, he would do it once more. I would apologize to him on broken knees, and I would kiss his cheek, promise him an eternity with me.

Yes, he would wake soon.

He was not dead. How utterly absurd of me to think that this was truly his end.

With the epiphany, new knowledge, and hope rising in my chest, I approached his lying figure until I sat so closely next to him. I stared into his closed, lidded eyes that once encased a lively sea of blue. He would open them soon, it was the truth.

All I had to do was love him.

I brought my hands against his naked chest, and began to trace my fingers on skin where even angels would fear to tread. The warmth he once contained remained obsolete, ceased. But soon, I knew, it would return. It would come back the moment he finally knew.. That I loved him.

His alabaster limbs lied dimly lit by the luminance of the moonlight above, tasted and kissed by my ravenous tongue.

My fingers traced the mouth that threatened to be eternally shut, but his throat, I knew, remained agape and good for fucks; pleading to return from retirement to prove that he had no lost his touch.

I would let him sleep, happy, and in my arms, when I were through.

I kneeled before his unmoving face, and took out from my pants what would bring him from the dead. I moved to his pallid, pasty lips, and inside, I placed my throbbing ache. His mouth was dry and nearly chapped, but his throat encased me deep within.

I forced deep inside the confining thing, digging deep with my length until I howled again; the spasm of orgasm on a roll from the delicious pressure of within.

My hips moved on their own accord, thrusting and loosening the lovely mouth that would soon again manage words. My peak had finally reached, and I released sporadically into his livid throat, allowing myself to pull out and hope.

A lump in his throat, choked with my cum; how lovely he would have looked with live, open eyes.

I looked towards his lifeless face with that of my own (for lifeless I felt I was, too) and nearly sobbed in dismay when I failed to make his chest rise and fall again. My anxiousness rose, and so had my sadness, knowing I had failed to love him the way he wanted me to.

What was I to do? What did he want? What could I do?

I brought my lips to his own. I kissed him viciously, maliciously, religiously.. But when had one been able to best separate the three?

His chest, it seemed, presumed its petrified state, and it was then that I knew what he wanted me to do..

On that bitter night of giving head.

His limp length lied drenched, slick with spit, yet his chest remained in its deadly state. I grew confused and anxious. What were I to do? What did he need?

How were I to tell him how much he meant to me if he continued to sleep?

I turned him over, disposing of his remaining clothes and useless knives. Knowing (and precisely assured I was on that cold, and lonely night) that what I was about to do was true love. And with so much emotion, and with so much devotion, he would wake.. and his chest would rise and fall again.

A sharp rear entry, an exit in red.

I knew I was close, and that he was nearing, as well; to lie in my arms, so I could kneel and plead for the beam of his smile, and he would smile for me.. And he would love me, and I'd love him the same way I realized I always had.

We blended as one underneath the moonlight on the verdant grass beneath us. Pounding, crying, weeping, and begging for him to return and wrap his arms around me.

But he did not.

I watched in misery and desolation as his chest remained pressed, dead, and unchanging. I could not, he would not.. begin to breathe.

How easy then it would have been to sacrifice my life.. to have him with me.

I held his limp body against my own, crying, regretting, grieving. His skin began to grow colder, and his bones felt heavy against his whitening skin.. I could not bear it. He would not come back.

On that day the laughter died.

And I, (much as I have tried to bury him from my mind, fate's tourniquet was tied when He died), still sense his presence so divine.. tearing at my mind, rotting at my spine, a painful dread that I had_ Killed_ him, and he was not to come back.

Tears grimaced and poured from my worthless, wretched eyes, but his did not.

I looked up towards the blackened sky, the angels watching down upon us at our broken, shattered ties; pleading deeply for them to bring him back to life. His once joyful laugh, yellow hair, and blue, ocean eyes..

But I wept, for the angels merely stared..

And stared, and stared, and stared, and stared.

**oOo**

**Ohh~ The tragedy. Too much Cradle Of Filth does this to you. Review for me? (: Even if it's just to tell me how much you hate me. Thanks so much for reading!**


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